“I resolved,” she wrote, “at last to force myself to take up the religious life. I was more influenced by servile fear, I think, than by love. The Devil put before me that I could not endure the austerities of the life because of my delicate nurture.” But when these doubts arose, Theresa turned again to Father Jerome’s soothing words:—
“What dost thou fear? Poverty? Jesus Christ has called it blessed to be poor. Work? What athlete is crowned without a combat? Art thou hungry? Whoever believes in Christ, God will never permit to hunger or thirst. Fearest thou to lie down naked on the cold ground? Remember that near thee the Lord always sleeps. Is it the solitude which affrights thee? Lift up thy heart unto the heavens, and believe that the sufferings of the present are not worthy to be compared with the glories which await thee hereafter.”
Comforting words like these burned themselves into the soul of the susceptible girl. She was dissatisfied; here she was promised satisfaction. She was passionate; here she was promised peace. Above all, she was lonely, she had an immense craving for love and sympathy; and the words of the Monk of Beth-
